Lost
by MelpomeneTears
Summary: What if Maric did not die when he was 'Lost at sea?  It wouldn't be the first time he disappeared.  Inspired by the 'What if' challenge on The Dragon Ages group on Deviant Art.


He stumbled in through the doorway and collapsed heavily into a chair at the table. His eyes were glassy and he looked as if he had been crying. He pushed his golden tresses out of his red rimmed eyes. His gaze was fixed on the table as if committing the grain of the wood to memory.

She walked over and cautiously sat in the chair next to him. She touched his arm, then recoiled at the smell of whiskey lingering around him. Her husband almost never drank; something must have gone terribly wrong. They knew sooner or later the ghosts of their pasts would catch up to them. She felt a band of anger clench around her heart, they would never be free.

"Tell me what happened. Maybe we can figure it out together."

He turned his sapphire blue gaze to her, "My son is dead."

Fiona jerked up out of the chair and covered her mouth. "You mean…"

"No, MY son."

Fiona struggled not to look relieved. "You mean the King or…? What happened?"

Maric's gaze fell back to the table top and he dropped his head, to tired from his grief to keep it lifted. "Cailan…The reports are mixed. And I can't believe any of them." He swallowed audibly. "If I had stayed…"

"Don't. Don't you dare blame this on us."

Maric sighed, "I have to go back."

"No, you don't. You gave that country enough blood for twenty kings." Her gaze was flinty.

"I have to go back; I need to know what happened." His voice trembled, "I need to know. I'll be back soon."

Fiona took a deep breath and sat back in her chair. "How exactly do you propose to get in and out of Ferelden without people noticing? You are Maric the Savior after all. Have the damn country fought with you during the war."

"I can dye my hair with that herb you use. I'm not exactly dressing like a King anymore, I can wear a hood or…"

"Or I could go with you."

"Fi, I can't ask you to do that."

"Will you shut up. If you're going back, I'm going with you. Think of me as protection."

Maric laughed, "I can protect myself."

She smacked him lightly on the arm. "Not that, you dolt. Ferelden isn't ready for a King with an elven wife."

Fiona watched him as they sat across from the soldier. Maric had found the man sneaking around their campsite the night before. Maric had been appalled at his condition. His clothes were in tatters and his cheeks were sunken from starvation.

Maric had brought him to their fire and fed him. That night they had been awakened by the man's screams. He kept screaming "the beacon" over and over again. Maric had gently roused the man, his eyes were panicked, darting around wildly.

When he realized where he was, he slumped in Maric's arms openly weeping. "I ran..Oh Maker forgive me, I ran."

So, now they sat here, in the back corner of a tavern. Maric had plied the man with ale until it loosened his tongue. He had told his whole tale in hushed tones, pausing every so often to take a few calming breaths. Maric smiled reassuringly every so often, to urge him on.

Maric's fingers were clenched around his own mug, knuckles turning white as he tried to control his fury. As Fiona listened to the man's story she realized that their trip was going to be much longer than either of them had anticipated.

The soldier was an archer who had been stationed on the bridge at Ostagar. He had seen the army in the valley get swarmed by Darkspawn, pulled under a growing tide of blackness. He waited and waited for the beacon that would signal for reinforcements to be lit.

When he had seen it he had been relieved until he looked for Loghain's troops and saw that they had turned away from the battle and were leaving. At that point he had decided to run rather than die at the hands of the Darkspawn.

Everyone had been told that the Grey Warden's had betrayed the King, and that in so doing, died along with him. But the soldier attested to how the Warden's, especially the Commander had protected the King fiercely. He told them about the rumors about two Wardens who had escaped and that one of them was actually the King's bastard son.

Fiona's eyes went wide at that. Surely, he couldn't mean her son. She hoped desperately that he had not become a Warden. She had wanted a simple life for him, raised without the stigma of either of his parents hanging over him.

Maric gave the man 10 sovereigns as they left. As far as Maric was concerned, the soldier had earned every penny of it. Maric rose and waited for Fiona to stand before he swept her out of the tavern. He walked briskly through the small town and to the outskirts where they had previously set up camp.

Fiona had not spoken until the fire was lit and she was warming her hands over it. "Do you think…"

"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Loghain and I had our differences, but for him to abandon his king on the field, to let my son be slaughtered and defiled by Darkspawn. I would never have thought him capable of such a thing."

Fiona snorted. "You give him too much credit. You know how cold he can be. He was going to kill you on more than one occasion. He manipulated you into killing a woman."

"She was a spy." He said distantly.

"You loved her, and he manipulated you into killing her. He discarded Rowan as if he had never been more than an acquaintance with her. He abandoned his wife and child."

"Enough, he did what he thought he must."

Fiona stood and walked to Maric, "And I am sure he will tell you that when he abandoned your son on the field, that he had to do it. That it was for the good of Ferelden."

Maric couldn't hold her gaze, her brown eyes burning into him.

He stood in the middle of the Landsmeet glaring at a visibly shaken Loghain. She had been right, Loghain stood in front of him, his ice blue eyes as cold as ever and told Maric he had done it because it was necessary.

He had watched from the shadows as Loghain had spewed an endless fountain of his reasons for committing all of the atrocities that the Grey Wardens had discovered. When the duel was called he made his way off the balcony and down into the main chamber.

He had almost arrived too late. Alistair was a hair breadth from killing Loghain. Maric called out, and Alistair froze, as did Maric. He realized two late the ramifications of speaking up. He pressed his lips into a thin line and walked to where Loghain stood. _"One problem at a time."_ He thought.

Loghain finally lowered his gaze and had no words when Maric questioned him about trying to also kill Alistair. He glanced over at Alistair who looked as if he would launch himself at Maric any second. A familiar looking woman in armor rested her hand on Alistair's arm and he seemed to calm.

Maric took a deep breath, relieved that his son wasn't going to kill him right in the middle of the Landsmeet. Although, he rethought that assertion as he declared that Loghain and Anora would be exiled from Ferelden immediately and forever.

Alistair's face twisted into a vicious snarl. "You traitor." He spat, being physically restrained by the woman and a blonde elf. "He killed your son, committed regicide and you let him walk. Your army was decimated because of him. Only two Grey Wardens remain because of this son of a whore and you let him walk out. How dare you." He surged forward and almost pulled free of those holding him.

Maric lowered his head; he had no way to explain. Had no right to expect the son he had abandoned to understand.

Alistair wrenched and twisted trying to break free, his face was scarlet. "When he hires someone to kill you in your sleep don't expect me to cry for you." He finally jerked free, but instead of moving towards Maric and Loghain he turned and strode angrily out of the Landsmeet. The woman and the elf followed suit.

Maric sat alone in his rooms. He had been made King again, but this time he was surrounded by solitude. Neither Alistair nor Sareyna would respond to his correspondence. He received no reply at all unless it was business related. And then he received brief, terse replies from Nathaniel Howe.

Today had been long and exhausting. A Harold had brought him an urgent message from the ambassador who had been dispatched to the Free Marches to work on trade agreements. Loghain and Anora had both been found dead in their small hut.

It seemed Anora was poisoned, but Loghain had not been so lucky. Whoever had killed him had tortured him first. The ambassador reported that the general census was that it had been an Antivan Crow.

Maric slid off his boots and rubbed his feet idly. It seemed that Alistair had at last had his revenge, Maric was sure that the Warden's friend Zevran had been involved with the grisly murder. Maric stood and stretched before pulling off his tunic and trousers.

Loghain was dead, Bryce was dead, his son was dead, and he was here, alone among all the bustle of the palace. He crawled into the bed and climbed under the covers. It was hours yet before most of the castle would turn in. But in his sleep he found his only solace. His eyes drifted shut.

"You look tired, long day tending to the country?" A smile played gently across Fiona's lips.

Maric clasped her hand and brought her fingers to his lips. He kissed each one separately, "You have no idea."


End file.
